by H.C. Brown
Club Floggers Book 1
Blurb: When Nash Mage sees an innocent vanilla virgin in Floggers' charity auction , it's game on.
Nash leaned casually against the wrought iron railing beside the entrance to The Floggers’ Club. With rising disgust, he watched the retreating back of the disgruntled sub. His hand ached. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, and then stared at the red mark across the palm, an indentation from the flogger handle. Damn, he would have to remember to wear his gloves next time. He lifted his chin and gazed at the sub limping away in the distance. What is wrong with me?
Lately, no one could keep his interest. He missed Damien. Fuck, the man had left him cold, no note, no fucking reason. Nash sucked in a freezing breath. He needed new blood. One with trusting eyes and that smooth, porcelain skin that deserved to carry his marks.
Steam billowed from the drains in the gutter, in spasmodic, white clouds. It would be a white Christmas this year. The weather bureau forecast snow for the entire holidays. Nash took the toothpick from his mouth and flicked it into the road. Fuck, he needed a cigarette. Just one drag would sooth the craziness. Hell, he prided himself on his control. Nash snorted and turned to his friend. “His nose is out of joint because I didn’t want to fuck the weasel.” He rubbed his hands together.” I hate it when they beg for cock. If I’d had a smoke I’d have ground it out on his balls.”
“Giving up smoking is a bitch.” Rafe Connell pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He stared after the sub and grimaced. “And that bitch will be telling everyone you’re an edge player.”
With a shrug, Nash stared at the gray piles of snow banked up at the curb. He lifted his chin, met Rafe’s hazel eyes, and smiled. “I beat the crap out of the little do-me queen. Bitch thought he could Dominate me—fat chance.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe I am taking it to the edge. I’m looking for the same thrill I got from Damien. What I need is a sweet sub who appreciates my skill.” He sighed. “I gave that whining bastard what he asked for and more, but no way was I going to fuck him.”
“It was consensual. That house sub wasn’t an innocent; he should have expected a good flogging with your reputation.” Rafe slapped Nash on the back. “It’s freezing out here. Come downstairs, and I’ll buy you a drink.”
At the bottom of the steps, the comforting scent of wax and leather, laced with the enticing aroma of musky, male sweat, wafted over Nash. The owner of the club, Rio Knight, met them at the VIP section of the polished mahogany bar. Nash shrugged out of his long, leather coat and threw it to a house sub. He met Rio’s disgruntled gaze. “I’m not banned again, am I? Not when Rafe has just returned from overseas—we have some serious ass to claim.”
“Four house subs have fled in a week, Nash. At this rate, we’ll need to put adds in the newspapers for replacements.” Rio balled his fists on his hips. “I think it’s time you put a collar on your own sub.”
Nash took a toothpick from a jar on the bar and pushed it between his lips. He straightened his shoulders and glared at Rio. “Fuck, that’s worse than getting married.
I’ll flog and fuck who I chose when I chose.”
“Sure.” Rio growled, turned, and strode away. Two seconds later, he was back in
Nash’s face. He glared. “But keep your hands off the subs for the auction.”
With a grin, Nash met his gaze. Rio intimidated most members of Floggers but not him or Rafe. “I hope you’ve got some pretty boys this year.” He grimaced. “I’m getting bored with the ugly ass around here.”
“I put a notice up in Handcuffs and Whips two weeks ago.” Rio gave him a slow smile. “I’m looking for a new sub too. There’s a group giving us the once over tonight.”
He turned to go. “Try not to spoil Christmas again this year.”
With a sigh, Nash removed the toothpick and stabbed it into the ashtray. He reached for the bottle of bourbon on the bar and poured himself a drink. He threw it back and poured another. Yeah, yeah rave on. He turned to speak to Rafe. His friend was staring at a delicious sub, who was dancing slowly, obviously lost in a world of his own. He nudged his friend. “Nice but unobtainable.”
“I’m working on it.” Rafe turned back to the bar. “Fresh meat at two o’clock.”
Nash ran his gaze over the group of four men removing their coats in the foyer. Three were definitely subs—cropped hair and wearing plenty of metal. The group moved into the bar and paused as if undecided where to go. Nash’s gaze slid over the fourth man—young, barely legal, with a slight build—just the way he liked his subs. Brown hair with gold highlights curled around a cherubic face. A long, gold earring hung from one ear. Damn, the man had big, brown eyes and those long, Dominate me lashes. Nash whistled. “It must be Christmas. My sac’s full, and I just found Santa’s little helper.”
Turning around, Nash leaned his elbows on the bar to get a better view. The group moved to a table beside the dance floor. The sweet sub wore jeans low on his hips. He snorted. To wear jeans in Floggers was almost heresy. Two buttons undone at the fly showed the top of the man’s white boxers and a flat, smooth, hairless stomach.
Nice. “The young one is mine.”
The man’s black leather vest hung open to display an expanse of honey skin pulled tight over muscle. As the newcomer moved, Nash caught sight of his delicious, flat, bitable nipples. Nash groaned. His cock ached. I’ll fuck you till you scream. The man had that smooth, silken, tanned skin that drove Nash crazy. He wore no metal, no rings, nothing but the gold sparkling in his ear. The sub glanced around furtively. An innocent. Nash’s mouth watered. “I think just I blew in my fucking pants.”
“Oh, that’s a sweet sub.” Rafe laughed. “You’ll break him in half.”
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